Mafia Blood Vows

Chapter 1 – Sienna

SIENNA

“What are you, a nun?” Rebecca’s fingers are at my collar before I can stop her, flicking open the top button of my white blouse.

“What are you doing?” I swat her hand away, looking around to see if our manager is watching.

She steps back, tilting her head as she scrutinizes me. Frowning, she flicks another open, ignoring my indignant yelp, then she nods, finally satisfied.

I go to re-close one before I get told off for not being appropriately dressed, but Rebecca grabs my hands and presses closer, getting right into my personal space.

Closing her eyes like she’s praying for patience, she whispers quietly, “So help me, Sienna, if you don’t use those looks to get us real tips tonight, I will never forgive you,” she pleads, giving me her best puppy-dog eyes.

“Please. This is a massive opportunity. The best one we’re going to get. I really need this.”

Thinking of the overdue rent notice sitting on my coffee table, I have to concede, I need this too.

Rebecca grabs my shoulders and turns me toward the narrow mirror by the service entrance. Standing behind me, with her wild curls wrestled in a thick bun, she grips the tops of my arms and forces me to look at myself.

“Smile, please,” she begs. “You look like you’re going to a funeral.”

I can’t argue with that. The person staring back at me looks tense and hollow-eyed, so I attempt to look enthusiastic, lifting the corners of my mouth in the biggest, fakest smile I can muster.

“Jesus, that’s the best you’ve got? You look deranged.” Rebecca sighs, shaking her head. “We’re doomed to be poor forever.”

Then she gives herself a little shake and dusts herself off before switching back into her default ultra-cheerful mode.

“Try again. This time, think of stuffing wads of cash into your purse at the end of the night and see if that helps.” A wink. “Or bagging yourself a rich date.”

Rolling my shoulders back, I have another go, giving her the biggest grin I can manage.

She glares. “That might be worse but come on. It’ll have to do.”

She drags me to the corner and ushers me forward to peek around with her. The main dining room of Bellini’s Italian restaurant is closed tonight for a private event, an engagement party for the restaurant’s mysterious new owner.

Nobody’s seen him. We don’t even know his name, but every server on staff has been called in, warned to be on their best behavior, and is being paid double time to stay until the last guest leaves.

Closing time and last orders are not a thing tonight.

“Do you see this place?” Rebecca points at the staff running around, the extravagant flower arrangements, last-minute cleaning and polishing of every surface. “Everyone is losing their freaking minds over this party.”

Whoever the imminent arrivals are, they’ve got the entire building on edge. Our head chef has been screaming an impressive variety of Italian curse words since noon, and I’ve never seen management sweat like this.

Everyone was forced to turn off their phones and warned that if they were even seen looking at them, let alone trying to snap some pictures, they’d be fired on the spot.

“He has to be a celeb,” Rebecca muses, staring in awe at the literal red carpet being rolled out at the front door. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Bellini’s is a high-end restaurant in downtown Chicago. We’re used to having famous guests, wealthy clientele, and high-profile restaurant critics, but this is something else entirely.

“I don’t get why everyone’s panicking. Sucking up to the new boss is one thing, but do they think he’s going to close the place down if every last detail isn’t perfect?”

He bought the place and he’s choosing to have his engagement party here. Both of which suggests to me that firstly, he’s been here before, and secondly, he liked what he saw.

“They want to keep their jobs, Sienna.” Rebecca hooks her arm through mine and pulls me back, looking me dead in the eye. “And so do we.”

I hadn’t even thought of that. Is this some kind of test? And whoever fails to impress gets shown the door?

It seems a bit far-fetched, but if there’s any chance it’s true, I need to make sure that doesn’t happen. Without this job, I’d be royally screwed. I’m barely keeping my head above water as it is.

The general manager appears in the kitchen doorway, and his expression sours when he sees us spying on the preparations instead of working.

His normally tanned face is grey, and his skin is clammy.

He claps his hands twice, and every server snaps to attention.

Usually serious and professional but friendly, his mood tonight is completely different.

It’s immediately obvious he’s not in the mood for jokes.

Silently, I pray that Rebecca keeps her smart mouth shut.

“Listen carefully,” he says. “Tonight is not a normal service.” He looks each one of us in the eye in turn, emphasizing the seriousness of these final instructions.

“You smile, you nod, you do exactly as you’re told.

Understood? And not just by me, but by them.

Just give them whatever they want, and we’ll all be okay. Any issues, you come to me.”

A murmur of assent ripples through the group, who looks more and more nervous with each passing second.

Rebecca catches my eye and raises an eyebrow, mouthing ‘what the fuck?’ as we’re shooed back to our stations, and the restaurant manager disappears back into the kitchen, shoving the door hard as he passes through, looking like he’s on the verge of a heart attack.

Did he just say we’ll all be okay?

Turning to the entrance where two men in black suits stand with clipboards in hand, I wonder who the hell is about to walk through that door.

“I heard they’ve put thirty grand behind the bar already, and that doesn’t include the wine and champagne that’s stacked up out back,” Rebecca murmurs as we step onto the floor together, smoothing a hand over her already perfect uniform.

Crystal chandeliers cast a warm light over mahogany walls and cream marble floors. White roses spill across every table.

“These people are seriously loaded. Not just ski vacations and sports car rich. Like, yacht money rich.”

I didn’t realize Rebecca had created an elaborate tiering system for our guests based on recreational activities. Or maybe, it’s transport-based?

“And?” I ask, as she stands there, hands on hips.

This is one of the most exclusive restaurants in town. Our tables are booked up six months in advance. Everyone who eats here is rich.

“You know what that means?”

I’m not sure I want to.

“That they’re probably assholes?” I grumble, not in the mood tonight for bowing and scraping to rude, elitist diners, or dealing with a manager who’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I already feel that familiar discomfort working somewhere as opulent as this.

I don’t belong here. If these people could see where I live, I doubt they’d even let me touch their plates. Every shift, I tell myself I’m going to get a job in a coffee shop instead, but I need the tips. So here I am, once again.

“No.” My best friend groans, exasperated with me once more.

“You’re purposefully missing the point, as always.

They’re assholes who might pay your bills for the entire month if you’re lucky.

Just be super nice to them. Get your game face on, just for one night, Sienna.

Flirt and smile and let those old perverts think they have a chance with a hot, young thing. ”

Crates of three-hundred-dollar bottles of champagne line the hallway.

And that’s just the cheap stuff to be handed out.

Tonight’s guests will knock it back like it's water and keep us busy, I’m certain of that.

But if the owner is picking up the tab, and nobody here is paying for their own drinks, we might actually make less money than normal, not more.

Biting my tongue, I don’t dare say that out loud and ruin Rebecca’s night, deciding that it’s kinder to let her dream.

Outside, black luxury cars and SUVs line the curb.

Beyond the vast windows that cover one entire wall of the restaurant, a woman steps out of a gleaming Mercedes, silk flashing beneath the lights.

Her husband drops his keys into the valet’s hand without breaking conversation, and without even looking at the man taking them.

Everyone else is invisible to these people.

“It’s showtime,” Rebecca says, tilting her head toward the front door where our ma?tre d is making a big fuss over the first arrivals to be allowed inside.

“Ladies.” David appears beside us, spine straight, brown hair slicked back. His gaze dips to my collar, to the open buttons Rebecca insisted on, and lingers a beat too long before lifting back to my face. He doesn’t tell me to close them and is apparently not above enjoying the view.

“I hope you both got lots of sleep last night because this is going to be a late one.”

“Great,” I mutter. There goes my early morning study session in the library.

He fixes his jacket, smoothing a hand over his black tie after straightening the knot, and gives us both a forced smile.

“Rebecca, east side tonight,” he says. Though he’d never admit it, he’s nervous, too. “Sienna, you’ve got the bar.”

Rebecca shoots me an envious look. Though the bar is chaotic at night, it’s also where the best tips are most likely to be when dinner is free.

“Got it,” I say, already reaching for a tray of champagne flutes before David can ask me anything else. Like what I’m doing after work.

The crystal glasses are heavy as I weave into the arriving crowd, smiling and holding out the tray of drinks to everyone who steps inside.

A steady hum of low conversation fills the room as more and more groups of people are escorted in, glamorous women taking their places at low tables, while the men congregate at the bar.

Halfway across the room, eyes on me make my senses perk up.